


Waffles Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

by orphan_account



Category: MST3K, Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: BDSM, Eggo sales PLUMMET, Emetophilia, Feeding Kink, Hand Jobs, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm here to ruin waffles for everyone, I'm so sorry, M/M, MST3K - Freeform, Masturbation, Mike is there, Power Play, Sickfic, Vomiting, i guess, joel lov syrup, rip waffles, these are uncharted waters, uhh, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Consequences





	Waffles Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs/gifts), [LaurenCrabtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenCrabtree/gifts).



> *** I am orphaning this fic but I'm still around. It was fun while it lasted. Find me at garbagebg3000 if you have any burning questions about this sort of content
> 
>  
> 
> Content warning: This fic contains mentions of food, feeding kinks, and puke. If any of those topics make you uncomfortable or if that isn't your thing, I would back out now. Please don't read if you're under 18! Please. 
> 
> I've never written anything like this before, and I'm not even really into it either, but I decided to try it out since there seems to be so much uhh, crossover with other things. Hopefully I did it justice. For @WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs and @LaurenCrabtree. Thanks for being gross. Happy Valentine's day, everyone.

*** I am orphaning this fic but I'm still around. It was fun while it lasted. Find me at garbagebg3000 if you have any burning questions about this sort of content

Clayton had given up on Joel, muttering something about him being disgusting and impossible before turning his camera off, leaving him to his own devices. Joel slid his finger out of his mouth, surveying the damage. The waffles felt heavy inside of him, and he sighed again at the realization of what he’d done. 

He sat up, slipping his arms back through his suit and zipping it up, cheeks burning. All of that mess, and only because Forrester had asked him. He felt himself through the front of his jumpsuit again, wondering if it was worth sending it down for dry cleaning a few days early. The thought of Forrester knowing, too, that he hadn’t been able to help himself, that following orders and filling himself up had a hand in everything spurred him on. He attempted to sit up straight in his chair to get a better angle, stopping suddenly as a wave of nausea hit his body. Shit. His head hurt, now that he thought about it, and his mouth and throat felt sticky and raw. Maybe now wasn’t the best time. 

Mike made it to the main room quickly, having ran from the other side of the ship. Unaware of what was going on, he had been attempting (and failing) to fix their water heater by himself. Ready to complain, he stopped in the doorway, taking everything in. Joel touching himself. Absence of waffles. Sticky mouth. Joel in a sugar coma, touching himself. Mike blinked. Oh. 

He rushed over, one hand on Joel’s shoulder, the other finding his. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, here?” He thumbed more syrup from Joel’s mouth. While he could see perfectly well what was going on, he wanted to hear it from the man himself. It wasn’t uncommon to find Joel like this, incapacitated in some way, caught up in one of Forrester’s games. 

“Umm,” Joel squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of nausea hit, unable to talk yet determined to finish the job. And now Mike was there, watching him. 

He tried again. "We made waffles. And Forrester said I had to...eat them.” He swallowed hard, concentrating at the task at hand. 

“And you did.” Mike knelt down, gingerly brushing a hand over Joel’s stomach. 

Joel could only nod. 

“You always follow his orders, don’t you?” Mike took Joel’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look up at him through tired eyes. 

“Yeah.” 

“And you like it.” 

“Feels good.” Joel nodded, dipping his fingers into the syrup once again. 

“That’s not what I meant, sicko.” Mike jerked his chin towards him again. 

“I know what you meant, I’m just-“ he closed his eyes once again, suddenly gripping the table. He swore under his breath as another wave of nausea hit; of course his body would betray him and spoil the fun. “Fuck, I feel sick.” 

 

Mike chuckled, grabbing his hands and pulling him into a standing position. “You just ate an ungodly amount of sugar, idiot.” Joel swayed against him, digging his nails into his hands. It would have been almost comical, had Joel not been so invested in getting himself off moments before. If Mike was honest with himself, he didn’t really mind. 

Joel could only nod, frowning at the floor. His body ached, from his head to his crotch to the churning in his stomach that had only moments ago been a source of pleasure. It wasn’t fair, really. He clung to Mike as they stumbled to the bathroom, arm slung over his shoulders. Clayton would surely give him hell for this, if he found out. Weaker than he thought, unable to handle a simple task, and one he enjoyed, even. 

He made his way to the bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink. Maybe he wouldn’t be sick after all. Maybe he could stumble back to his room and finish, with Mike helping him. Maybe Mike would continue to torment him. He bit his lips at the thought, knuckles turning white on the counter. 

“Joel-“ Mike placed a concerned hand on the small of his back. No sooner had Joel opened his mouth to respond when his stomach betrayed him and he heaved into the sink, coughing as he vomited. 

He quickly turned the faucet on, wiping at his mouth. “I’m sorry-“ he said quietly, spitting into the sink, trying in vain to clean it, cupping handfuls of water to rinse out his bitter-tasting mouth. 

“It’s okay.” Mike cleared his throat, trying to ignore the twinge in his stomach, the tightening in the lower half of his suit. He felt guilty for a moment, but the boy never knew when to quit, anyway. The number of questionable and quite frankly dangerous situations he’d seen Joel put himself in far outnumbered Mike enjoying his moment of vulnerability. 

Joel turned to look at him, lips red, eyes glazed over. “You like this,” he observed, giving Mike a halfhearted grin. “I thought you said I was a sicko.” 

“You still are.” Mike laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you want me to, um-" 

Joel gripped his stomach, still uncomfortably full. “Yeah.” He spat into the sink again, before gingerly gripping the counter and kneeling next to the trash can. He leaned against the side of the shower, gagging as he vomited again, trying to focus on Mike’s hands as they unzipped his suit, slipping over his stomach and downward. Sure, his fun had been spoiled, but maybe it wasn’t so bad. Mike was there, touching him and enjoying every minute of his suffering. Maybe it had all payed off. He smiled as Mike wiped his mouth once again. “This is what happens when you’re not around.” 

“You absolutely can’t pin this one on me.” Mike sounded breathless, glancing from his face to the flecks of bile on his collar. “You’re the one who enjoyed it so much.” 

“Next time.” Joel spat into the trash can. “Next time, you’re telling me when to stop.”


End file.
